Deserving
by Hamilcar
Summary: First movie AU. Peter chooses to disregard Norman Osborn's final wish. Instead, he takes a chance and trusts Harry with the truth, sending events in a very different direction. Peter/Harry.
1. Drinks

OOO

Norman Osborn raised his head and looked at Peter one final time.

"Don't tell Harry," he whispered as his mouth and torso dripped blood. Slumping over onto the glider, he died, leaving Peter to stare numbly at the body of his best friend's father.

Swallowing his pain and nausea, Peter looked at the body and shook his head. "No," he replied, though he knew Norman was gone and could not hear him. "I'm not going to do that." He sucked in the polluted air, filling his lungs to scream. "Do you hear me?! I'm not going to do that!" His eyes were clouding with tears. "You get off free and clear, get to have Harry weep over your memory when you tried to kill him and Aunt May and MJ and a ton of other people?"

Peter made for the exit of the gutted building, backing away slowly as he stared at the corpse.

"You'll get what you deserved, and it's not an honored memory."

Then, on the precipice of a window sill, about to web away, Peter paused. Having his father unmasked as a super-villain would be painful enough for Harry. Peter could only imagine what the social and legal ramifications would be for his friend if the rest of the world knew as well.

Heaving a sigh, he walked reluctantly over to Norman's still warm and dripping body and pulled out the glider. He couldn't carry both the body and the glider so he set the machine aside and, replacing the hideous mask over the man's deadened features, slung him over his shoulder and swung away in the direction of the Osborn penthouse.

OOO

Once Peter arrived he was disappointed, but not much surprised, to find his infamous 'Parker luck' kick into action. Bad enough that he'd had to fight a psycho and nearly saw him kill Mary Jane and a bus of kids. He thought he might catch a break if he did the right thing, brought Norman's body home to hide his crimes and give a decent burial. Ideally, Peter wanted to find Harry before Harry found Norman, maybe slip out of the costume, and explain matters slowly to him so that he would understand.

Which, given Peter's track record, meant that Harry _would_ walk into the room right as he was laying the Goblin's body down on a chaise.

At first, they both stared at each other, frozen in mutual panic. Then Harry scrambled to open a drawer and pointed a gun towards Peter. His hands were shaking as though he'd never held a firearm in earnest before, but that did nothing to calm Peter or dampen the frenzied signals he was getting from his spider-sense. Knowing how badly this must look, and that it could only get worse once Harry took the Goblin's mask off, Peter gambled on their friendship and Harry's understanding.

"Harry! Stop!" He tugged his mask off. "Please! It's me, Pete!"

"Peter?" Harry looked dumbfounded but some of the fright was fading from his eyes. "Peter, _you're_ Spider-Man?"

"I can explain," he replied, swallowing nervously. "But you have to listen. OK, Harry? Can you do that? For me? Can you listen and wait until I've explained everything?"

For a moment, he wasn't sure what Harry would do. Ultimately, though, he lowered the gun, set it on the table and went over to embrace Peter.

"Jesus, Pete, you scared me, breaking into the house!" Peter could feel Harry's chest expand as he took deep breaths. "I can't believe you never told me this before. But why now? And… and what about that?" He stepped past Peter and looked at the Goblin.

"Harry, I have something to tell you and it's not going to be easy." He touched Harry's arm. "Maybe you'd better sit down…"

Harry looked at the corpse, transfixed for a moment, then turned to Peter. "That's the thing from the festival, the thing that attacked Aunt May!" He brushed off Peter's grip and drew closer. "It's OsCorp technology, isn't it?" He asked, a nervous quiver creeping into his voice. "That's the armor that went missing along with that flying machine. And the person inside it… Oh God, no, Peter…" He covered his mouth as the dots began to connect.

"I'm so sorry," Peter whispered. "_So_ sorry. He didn't want you to know. But a secret like that, it isn't fair to you. I know it's hard, but better this than deceiving yourself, better that you know what happened, better I be honest. At… at least that's what I keep telling myself," he finished weakly, staring at the carpet.

"I don't want to look!" Harry cried out and turned around. "I don't want to see! If I see…" He steadied himself on the table. "If I see it will be real." He looked up at Peter. "Did you kill him?"

"Not exactly," Peter admitted in a small voice. "Have you been watching the news?"

Harry's eyes widened, making the connection. "Shit! That bus of kids and that girl…"

"It was MJ, Harry." Peter met his gaze, emotional. "He tried to make me choose and then he came after me. There was a bout of fighting and in the end… in the end he tried to impale me with the glider. I jumped. It hit him." Unsure of whether or not Harry would freak, Peter gambled again and approached him, taking his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to. But Norman was _mad_, Harry. He took something, I think, he went completely mad, wanted to kill half the board, and _somebody_ had to stop him…" His voice hitched.

Still refusing to look at the corpse, Harry hugged Peter and wiped his face off. "Come on Pete. Pete, Pete, you gotta calm down. OK?" Harry nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all and then began shuddering himself. "Because if you're crying, how are you going to keep me from crying? Especially when this is my fault…"

"No, Harry, no. How could you even think that?"

"Because I told him Pete!" Harry bellowed suddenly, making Peter start. "I told him! I saw you and MJ and came back and found him, told him that he was right. Told him that you cared about MJ more than anything else. I didn't know you were Spider-Man or that he was the Goblin, didn't think it would lead to anything! But if he went after her right after I told him about you – who's to blame for that?" He leaned into Peter's shoulder, gripping Peter's arms. "I thought we were bonding but all I was doing was giving him ammunition."

"It isn't your fault Harry. Don't think like that. It's his; he was the one who made the attack. You didn't know anything about it, Harry…"

"That doesn't fix anything Pete. And it doesn't make me feel any less shitty about it." He closed his eyes and rubbed them. "Fuck. I need a drink."

Not wanting to be left in the room with the body, Peter ran after him, taking off his gloves as he went. Spider-Man wanted to chastise Harry for thinking that alcohol would help in any way, that it was delusional to think it was anything more than a temporary escape from his problems. But Peter Parker wanted a temporary escape. So when Harry pulled out the scotch, Peter pulled out a second glass.

Six glasses later Peter sank into the couch and looked up at Harry who was pouring himself a seventh.

"We gotta go back in there," Peter whispered.

"I know." Harry groaned. "Where the fuck is Bernard? What the hell do I keep him around for?"

"The butler?" Peter looked down into the empty glass. "D'ja call 'em?"

"No." Harry downed the scotch. "I should. I should but… I'm his son. I should do this, shouldn't I?" He looked at Peter blearily. "You know, clean him up myself and all that?" He poured as he talked.

"You don't have to look. Don't look. Wouldn't make you do that," Peter mumbled and fiddled with the empty glass. "I _had_ to. He took off the mask. Looked me in the eye, told me I was like a son to him…"

"Didn't want his own," Harry sneered as he opened a new bottle and poured a ninth, sloshing most of it onto his hand. "Never good enough for him. Never smart enough. Responsible enough."

"Responsibility _sucks_, Har." He held the glass out and Harry poured, dripping on the carpet. "A never ending guilt trip. Too many secrets to keep and you're always letting somebody down. Sucks."

"I'll keep your secret. Would have kept it. Could have trusted me Peter, I would have kept it."

"Trusting you _now_," Peter pointed out with a whimpered reproach. He lifted the glass and managed to gulp half of it down. "Harry, I think we're drunk."

"Yep." Harry flopped down in the seat next to him. "That's the point." He filled the glasses again, both of them. "Drink 'til it's funny or you forget or you die."

"That's_ awful_ Harry."

"Better than a glider through the chest," he pointed out, tipping the glass back.

The part of his brain that was still functioning told him it was terrible, but Peter laughed until his sides ached. "You're horrible!" Tears leaked from his eyes and he leaned back, dropping his glass behind the couch.

"No, what's horrible is my dad's fashion sense. Seriously – that mask! What was he thinking?"

"That isn't funny!" He protested and laughed harder, Harry joining in.

"I know! My father's fucking _dead_." He jumped up, unsteady. "Hey you know what?" He set the bottle down and clapped. "I should call MJ! Now that dear old dad's dead and gone, things will be perfect!" Laughing, he fell back on the couch next to Peter, but then grew sullen. "Except she's in love with you. Not me. Nobody's in love with _me_."

"Oh don't pout. Here, have another." Peter filled his glass and passed it to him. "Your dad wanted to screw her you know," he babbled, searching for his own glass. "Said they were going to have, and I quote, a lot of fun together."

"Randy bastard."

"You think she likes me?" Peter gave up the search and drank from the bottle.

"_Everybody_ likes you Pete." Harry poked him in the side, causing Peter to twitch and giggle. "You're too sweet and nice not to like." He reached over and played with Peter's hair.

"That's not true, my boss hates me!" He grinned stupidly and leaned in. "And I don't think your dad likes me much anymore either," he whispered.

Harry cracked up again and twisted around, chuckling into Peter's neck. "God Pete…"

"I think MJ likes Spider-Man." He looked at Harry, grave. "I rescued her. Twice. We kissed in the rain you know."

"She told me. Said you did it upside-down."

"Yeah. See, I can hang from webbing like this," he said, shooting two lines from his wrists onto the ceiling. "And I was flipped like this," he said, managing to flip despite his inebriation. "And I threw my head back like this… and it was raining…"

"I've got it!" Harry laughed threw a shoe up in the air. It smashed a glass sprinkler attachment and the sprinklers started. "Rain!"

"Exactly! And then MJ held my face and pulled my mask down and she kissed me…"

"…like this?" Harry murmured as he stumbled over and bent towards Peter, imitation gone too far.

He pressed his mouth against Peter's and opened it almost immediately. The difference was palpable, even through the haze of alcohol; Harry was thicker, warmer, more aggressive, and smelled like he'd downed most of a liquor store. When they finally broke apart, Peter panted and swallowed, frightened again.

"What was that?"

That was…" Harry flushed. "I _said_ that everybody liked you. Weren't you listening?"

"We're _drunk_ Harry," Peter whispered, his brown eyes blood-shot and wide. "You're drunk. You're not thinking."

"Aw, shut up Pete." Harry rolled his eyes, his grin wavering only slightly. "You're wearing spandex and I've got eyes. I can _see_ you, you know." He reached up and gave Peter's crotch a stroke. "Like that."

Aroused and confused, Peter let go and fell in a heap onto the floor, joined by Harry, laughing, a moment later. The sprinklers were still going, matting down Harry's curls and causing the cotton turtleneck he was wearing to cling to his body. Not that it mattered much; another moment and Harry had clumsily stripped off the sopping garment and tossed it aside. Hovering above Peter, he shielded the lither boy's body from the water sprinkling down, looking at him with an excited intensity Peter had never felt directed towards him.

"God, but you drive me crazy," he growled. "You know that?"

"Harry!" Peter nearly choked as Harry started to kiss his neck and work his pants down. "Get _off,_ Harry!" He kicked in a flurry and scrambled backwards.

"I will if you let me!" Harry, hot and panting, retorted, unfastening his own belt.

"I'm serious, Harry! What do you think you're doing?" Peter gulped, wiping water off his face and pointing to the next room. "Harry, there's a dead body in there! Your father's dead body – in case you'd forgotten!"

He threw Harry back and the other boy looked at him, hurt.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Peter apologized, tugging his shirt back down. "I don't want you to do anything you'll regret tomorrow.

Harry shook his head and looked at Peter, crestfallen and chastised. He rocked back onto his ankles, running his hand through his hair. "Fuck, Peter. You really know how to bring a guy down, you know that?"

"Call Bernard," Peter said, wrapping Harry in a blanket and drying him off as best he could. "We need somebody sober." He shuddered and held his stomach and caught Harry's eyes with a mortified look. "And I think I'm going to be sick."

OOO

A/N: This fic will be short. Probably only one or two more chapters. Pretty much a divided one-shot. As always, I don't own the characters but I had fun writing with them and hope you enjoyed reading with them.


	2. Dinner

OOO

Bernard came to find them, wet and bedraggled, sitting awkwardly on the couch. Harry was half-undressed, wrapped in a blanket that was as drenched as he was, and Peter was in spandex with his arms wrapped around a wastepaper basket that reeked of vomit. Whatever his opinions or suppositions might have been, however, he kept them to himself. Rather than talk, he went about efficiently doing his work, turning off the sprinkler, getting Harry dry clothes and pretending not to know the reason why Peter was wearing spandex.

When they finally went in to the body, Peter held back. A few hours had lapsed and, his head finally clearing, he was afraid to be near Harry when the other boy was finally confronted with the reality of his father's demise. Harry pulled him with him, begging, however, and Peter could never say no. As soon as he lifted the mask away, Harry broke and Peter gathered him into limp arms.

They sank onto the floor, kneeling and mourning this time, and allowed Bernard to take care of the rest, piece by piece.

"I should be doing this," Harry whispered at one point, now curled up and watching Bernard. "But I just… I _can't_."

"Do what's right for you and don't worry about anything else," Peter replied, massaging his shoulder with one hand. "OK?"

Harry lapsed back into silence and leaned against Peter, falling asleep just as the sun was rising. Peter laid him on his side so that he wouldn't choke if he threw up while Bernard was out of the room. Then he went around the rooms, picking up the cast aside pieces of his costume, and pulled the gloves and mask back on.

"I need to get the glider," he told Bernard by way of explanation.

"Do what you must," the older man told him, not even turning from the body he was washing.

OOO

As soon as Peter made it back, he threw the glider onto the floor then crashed in an arm chair, falling into a fitful sleep. When he woke up the room was empty; Bernard came in and told him he could find Harry in the kitchen. He was there, bags beneath his eyes, alternately nursing a cup of black coffee and a glass of tomato juice, for the hangover Peter assumed.

"Hell of a night," Harry croaked. "Need something?"

"Water? I don't know. My head feels like splitting…"

"Take this." Harry passed him the juice. "So. Then. How much do you remember?"

"My arms are sore too," Peter groaned as he lowered himself into a chair. "Every muscle I have…"

"That's not answering the question, Pete."

"I remember your father's death," he whispered. "Clear as anything. If you want to know how it happened."

"Actually, I was referring to my drunken groping." He sipped his coffee. "Not that I'm not eager to hear about my dad too," he muttered, voice thick with sarcasm. "Jesus!" Setting the cup down, he buried his head in his hands. "What the _fuck_ has been happening with my life Pete? How did I not know about you? How'd I not know about my _dad?_ Am I that blind, that I can't see what's happening right in front of my face? Half the people standing in his way die, he's absent all the time and I can't figure that one out?" He looked up at Peter, eyes starting to well. "I thought things were getting better with him! We talked last night after… after I saw you with MJ. He said he wanted to make things up with me and I _believed_ him. Thought he really wanted to fix things. That he was starting to be more concerned about me, about our relationship, that he was going to… that he was going to be a real father."

"Maybe he was," Peter looked at the tomato juice miserably. "I told you, he didn't want you to know. He wanted you to love him."

"He wanted me to believe in a lie; that he was somebody he wasn't, somebody good when all he was all along was a psychopath… He took information I gave him and tried to use it to kill my two closest friends."

Peter wanted to argue, to make the case for Norman. That losing your life's work would be a blow for anybody, that it was the serum that had done it not Norman himself. But Norman had been vicious and, Peter thought, he would rather allow Harry to work matters out for himself regarding his father. Better to support a live friend than sympathize with a dead enemy.

"… and as for the other thing – shit, Pete. I honestly don't know what to say. I mean, I was drunk. And a little pissed about earlier, that you two were… that you cared about each other and nobody about me. But I… I should have kept my hands to myself." He reddened.

"Harry?"

"I mean, I thought, few months back, that maybe if I dated MJ things would get better. That maybe I would quit having dreams. That I would be able to stop staring, stop trying to keep you around for all the wrong reasons. That I could be more like my father wanted me to be and convince myself and everybody else that I was normal.

"And then when I couldn't, when the feelings didn't go away, I thought that it would at least keep her from you, that what you felt would fade and maybe you would…" Harry sighed. "That's all over now, I suppose. I mean, it's pretty clear from the hospital the way you two feel." He snorted. "Guess this torpedoes any chance of convincing you to stick around, doesn't it?"

Peter froze. "Harry…"

"After all," he pressed on, clutching his coffee tightly, "you love MJ and MJ loves Spider-Man and you're Spider-Man so all you have to do is put two and two and two together, make it equal six and let the love story play out. Better than a storybook romance, isn't it? Childhood sweethearts and all that shit." He laughed again, a short, punctuated sound. "Don't think there's room for an unrequited gay friend in that equation."

"Look, if…"

"I thought I should be honest, though, you know? I mean, even if you didn't want me to know about you and MJ, it took balls for you to tell me about Spider-Man, tell me what really happened last night. I'll be up front, I thought about blaming it all on the alcohol. Wouldn't have been hard – you're probably the most trusting guy I know, you know, even when you shouldn't be. Might want to work on that if you're gonna keep doing the hero thing. But I thought…"

"God, Harry!" Peter finally interrupted. "Will you shut up?!"

Harry froze, stunned, his mouth open. "Pete?"

"Sorry." Peter blushed. "I didn't mean to sound… let me get a word or two in, OK? You're my best friend, Harry."

"Yeah…"

"And I think I might like you. _Like_ you, like you. But I'm… shit Harry. I'm barely handling being Spider-Man. Something like this… I don't even know where to start. You _know_ me Harry. I'm no good with stuff like this. I don't know what to say, what to do. I'm clumsy, I'm awkward, I usually screw everything up even if I don't mean to. And everything is so complicated right now that I'm not quite sure what to tell you. Although if it's any consolation… " he took Harry's hand and gave him a little smile of encouragement, "I did feel something last night, and it wasn't just the alcohol."

"Oh." He looked into his coffee. "And what about MJ? I saw you yesterday. In Aunt May's room, you were holding hands. You've loved her forever Pete, I've seen it; you've told me about it."

"I'll admit; I worship MJ. But people you put on pedestals – it never seems to work out in real life. As for her… really, Har, who do you think she would actually love, me or the costume?" He smiled, the edges of his mouth curving ever so slightly. "Besides," he teased, "you and I already live together. That's a pretty good start don't you think?"

Harry shut his mouth, then smirked. "Maybe I should have gotten us drunk sooner."

"Maybe you should move slowly," Peter replied, suddenly serious. "Harry, I care about you. As a friend and as… well, as whatever. And last night… well, as I said, if we're both of us being honest, I liked the way you touched me. Still – this isn't easy for me to sort out. And besides that, your father, whatever you feel about him, died last night and I played a role in that death."

"Are you _trying_ to get me to dislike you? Because we both of us Osborns liked you better than we liked one another, you know."

"That's not what I'm saying. I want you to take your time, Harry. Bury you dad, take some time to think – some time to mourn. He wasn't the best person. But he was your father. Don't brush this off; don't act like it doesn't matter. Otherwise this whole mess will be hanging over both of our heads forever."

Harry nodded and stood up with a sigh. "I suppose this means I need to start explaining his death and planning a funeral." He poured the rest of the coffee out into the sink and leaned against it.

"Over the next few days… yeah. I know. But for now, Harry, let's go home." Peter took his hand. "Alright?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll have the car brought around. Get changed into something – whatever's in my closet should fit decently enough, bag up that suit and let's get the hell out of here."

OOO

Norman Osborn's death left a gaping, uncertain hole in the lives of Harry and Peter that neither seemed quite sure how to fill. In the week leading up to the funeral, the two darted about the apartment, wavering between approaching and avoiding. Harry allowed the preparations for the funeral and the business of the company that was suddenly in his hands to consume him. Peter ducked and kept his head down in his schoolwork during the day and kept clear of the apartment at night, swinging. Each stepped lightly, each shied away from discussing too deeply or examining too closely the events of that altering evening.

Then, two days before the funeral, Peter came back from patrol and found dinner waiting for him on his desk. It was nothing major, just a sandwich and a Pepsi. But on top of it was a small, scrawled note.

_Keep up the good work. _

Quietly, he slipped into Harry's room. The boy was beneath the sheets, clutching his pillow and snoring softly. Peter smiled, then walked over to his bedside and kissed his forehead. Beneath him, Harry stirred and his eyes opened a small crack.

"Hey Pete," he yawned.

"Hey Harry," Peter whispered. 'Thanks for dinner."

"Least I could do."

"I appreciate it. And… Harry, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. I don't want you to avoid me. A little space, maybe, but not… not nothing."

"I see. I thought you wanted me to move slow?"

"Yeah, but… not a standstill." He looked down. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say, to tell you, how to tell you…"

"Pete, come on," Harry threw the covers off, an open invitation. "You must be tired."

"Harry, this is what you call slow?" Still whispered, Peter managed to sound amused.

"Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to cuddle?" Harry smiled.

Laughing lightly, Peter slid off the costume and curled up next to Harry. They lay together in the darkness, skin to skin, each basking in the warmth of the other.

"So if I promise to keep making you dinner, will you promise to come home each night to eat it?"

Peter laughed again and moved in closer.

"I'd come back regardless; but I think you know that."

Harry sighed, contented, and nuzzled Peter's neck.

"Yeah, but it's nice to hear, all the same."

OOO

A/N: One more chapter after this and it will probably be complete. It'll hopefully be up soon, but in the meanwhile - I hope you enjoyed this one.


	3. Desserts

OOO

As soon as the funeral was over, Harry turned to Peter and embraced him, fiercely. By the way his hands were wandering, Peter could tell that Harry was looking for more than mere consolation. However, he pushed Harry away gently with a little shake of the head.

"MJ," he whispered.

For a moment, Harry looked hurt and dismayed. "But you told me…"

"It's not that," Peter murmured. "It's only – don't you think we should tell her first? Before she sees her former boyfriend making out with his best friend next to his father's grave." The shadow of a smile flitted across his features. "Time and a place, Harry."

Reluctantly, the other boy sighed and nodded. "Let's go tell her then," he said, keeping a hold on Peter's hand. "Here and now. No sense in putting it off or hiding it."

Peter allowed Harry to lead him over to where Mary Jane was standing, dressed in black from head to toe, a crumpled tissue in her hand. Harry didn't see the sense of it. Norman Osborn had made it clear how he felt about Mary Jane and Harry couldn't understand why she would feel the least bit of sorrow at his passing. Perhaps crying was just something people did at funerals; he hadn't gone to enough to know. Or maybe it was just something women in general did. Or just Mary Jane, ever the aspiring actress.

Suddenly, Harry looked at her and wondered what attraction there had ever been.

"MJ?" Peter's voice came from beside Harry. "MJ, Harry and I need to tell you something."

She looked up and regarded them with bloodshot eyes. Her expression wavered when she noticed they were holding hands, but she managed to look at them face to face. "What is it?"

"Harry and I…"

"We're together," Harry finished for him.

"We thought you should know," Peter said softly.

Something that might have been pain flashed in her face, but it was gone before it could register. She nodded as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, and then looked at Harry.

"Just tell me one thing, for my own peace of mind. When did it…"

"Never while you and I were dating," he hastily interrupted.

She looked at them for a moment, skeptical, before sighed. "Don't take this the wrong way – if it's something real, I'm happy for both of you – but are you sure this isn't just a rebound relationship? I'd be sorry to see your friendship get broken up because you were looking for a quick source of comfort."

Sensing Harry bristling beside him, Peter spoke up before either of his friends could say anything they might regret.

"I've cared about Harry for a long time," he told her, even if it wasn't precisely true in the way he was implying.

At this the red-head only nodded. "Well then I wish you both the best of luck." She turned and walked away then, leaving them alone by the open grave.

"Thank you," Harry murmured.

"For what?" Peter looked into his face. "Dealing with MJ?"

"Being there when I needed you." He drew Peter to him once more, but this time he kissed him, tugging gently at Peter's lower lip. "Everything got out of control, didn't it?" He touched Peter's cheek. "You and my father… it was one or the other. But, Peter?" He smiled and kissed him again. "As much as it hurts, knowing what happened to my dad, I'm glad I ended up with you."

"Why's that?" Peter threaded his arms around Harry's neck.

"Because you're the one who actually loved me." He kissed Peter's temple as the other blushed then wrapped a black-clad arm around Peter's shoulder. "Come on. I want to get back home; I've had enough of this place."

OOO

At first, Peter understood why Mary Jane had such a tough time dating Harry. He didn't understanding things, like why Peter wanted to keep working. When things were tough, he tended to try to assuage pain by buying things for Peter. He was a little bit haughty and more than a little bit consumed by what other people thought – though oddly enough Harry was more distressed by what Peter wore than by the looks they got every so often when they kissed in public parks. Peter chalked it up to New York being New York; gay was fine but unfashionable was unforgivable.

Besides, Harry would point out, they were expected to have better fashion sense than other men. It was alright to spend time in the shoe section and to know the different between cargoes and chinos, he would reassure Peter before buying Peter more shirts and pants than Peter thought he would ever be able to wear.

All of Harry's materialism, however, Peter found he was able to forgive. He was easily as socially inept as Harry, if in other ways. Besides, he knew he spent more evenings out than he ought to spend while doing things that caused Harry to worry. Most of all, he knew that Harry had no good examples, that his father, whatever intentions he might have had at the end, had never shown Harry any sincere affection.

Such lessons took a while; and for his best friend, Peter could be patient.

And Harry learned. Rather than paying for ordering in or taking Peter out, he made dinner for Peter and started to stay up, even until three or four in the morning, to make sure that Peter got back in safely. And if the long nights spent fretting and listening for sirens bothered him, he never grew angry or impatient about it. On the rare occasions that Peter stumbled in too incoherent to do much at all, Harry made sure he got into bed comfortably so that he wouldn't ache in the morning.

He even began to mend Peter's suits. At first he would only wash them while Peter slept, laundering out the sweat and grime. Then, Peter noticed, he began sewing up rips and repairing the rubber. When Peter asked about it, Harry only shrugged and said that a good costume was necessary to keeping his identity a secret. That and he didn't want untimely rips to let anybody but him see Peter's body – and Peter couldn't quite figure out if he was teasing or not.

Harry had begun to take on other tasks around the apartment too; vacuuming, dusting and doing the laundry. Peter teased him about being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. He only laughed, however, took off his shoes and socks, threw them at Peter's head and then asked if Peter wanted him to wear an apron.

"I wouldn't mind." Harry sat next to Peter on the couch and ruffled his hair, distracting him from physics. "In fact, I think it'd be kinda kinky. In a good way."

Peter flushed and Harry laughed, reclined on the couch and prodded Peter with his bare feet until the other sat up and took notice.

"Harry! I have physics to work on!" He chided, undoing all the force of any upbraiding with a grin.

"Bodies in motion until forces act on them?" Harry murmured, climbing over across cushions and pushing Peter down. "Could you show me how that works, Professor Parker? Give me a demonstration?"

"I think what _you_ want is biology," Peter teased. "And I'm no expert; but I'll do my best."

Peter allowed Harry to distract him, as he'd always allowed Harry to distract him; only this time the distraction was not obscene jokes or watching television, but instead touches and strokes that melted him to the marrow. When they were finished, Harry straightened the cushions and readjusted the hand-knit Afghan draped over the back of the couch.

Peter resumed his physics and warned Harry with a smirk that if he set out doilies, they might have to break up.

OOO

The first and worst test came when, in the process of cleaning up the water-damaged penthouse, Harry and Bernard found his father's room behind the mirror. Peter wondered if he would break down again. Instead, he flew into a rage, smashed anything that was within reach then stormed out and never looked back.

Bernard disposed of what Harry hadn't destroyed while Harry drove back to the apartment with Peter in tow, refusing to set foot in the house of his father ever again.

OOO

Despite Harry's persistent affections, they did not have sex until months later, on a temperate spring night, two days after celebrating an Easter that was miles apart from the Thanksgiving they'd spend in the apartment. The ham Harry made was so perfectly glazed that even Aunt May declared she could not have done better and there were no bleeding arms or shouting matches in the hallway.

Norman Osborn's shadow had faded from the table; that evening, it dissipated fully and completely.

"Peter?" Harry whispered, facing up into the darkness.

"Mmph."

"Peter, I'm dropping out of ESU this semester." He twisted around and curled close to Peter's body, sliding a hand across the horizontal man's torso.

"I said I'd help you with your essay, Harry."

"Nothing to do with that. Just… I'm done with business. I've had enough trying to juggle school and the company. So I'm dropping out, abdicating my position, and transferring to a culinary school."

"Oh?" An eyebrow lifted, but Peter didn't open his eyes.

"Didn't want to tell you until I was sure I'd gotten in. But the letter came yesterday."

Peter could feel Harry's curls tickling his neck. "I'm proud of you."

"It's just cooking school," Harry whispered demurely. "Hardly biochemistry or physics."

"First off, cooking is chemistry to an extent, only harder because not every reaction makes something that tastes good. Second off, that's not the only reason why I'm proud." He wiggled and rolled over to face Harry. "I'm proud because you're finally doing what it is you want to do with your life and not what everybody else told you that you should do with your life."

Grateful, Harry hugged him tightly; then the silence of the evening was broken by the sound of a siren. With a sigh, he allowed his arms to fall away from Peter's body.

"Your costume is on the dresser."

"Costume?" Peter frowned. "What costume?"

"Pete…"

"You give me every night," he whispered. "Let me give this night to you. I think we both deserve it."

Harry held back for a moment, afraid of what might happen if things went wrong, afraid of the guilt that might come if Peter was needed. But his touch was more than enough to coax.

And the next morning Harry found that the fire department and the EMTs of New York had been up to the task of the evening. Relieved, he set out an extra large breakfast and Peter smiled, gave him a reassuring kiss and told him that everybody needed a night off once in a while.

As Peter kissed him goodbye and left for class, Harry held on to the warm feeling that had spread from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers and toes.

All things considered, everything weighed and counterbalanced – life really wasn't so bad. He turned the television to a Spanish-language soap opera, whistled while he cleaned up the breakfast table and never gave a thought to what could have been.

OOO

A/N: And so it ends. Short, a little bit fluffy, a little bit angsty - but there it is. Hope you enjoyed. :)

As for future projects - sequels for other fics are still in the pipes, but in the meanwhile I've had inspiration for two new movie AU fics. Plot bunnies are as follows:

1. Due to various circumstances (the deaths of the Parkers, Harry running away, etc.), Harry and Peter are raised by Otto and Rosie. Life goes well until Peter gets his powers and Norman decides that Harry and Peter's powers both belong to him. Not sure if I would pair Peter and Harry in this one (would be almost-kinda-sorta-not-really-but-almost incest)

2. First movie AU again. Peter tells Harry right after the bite about his powers, Harry goes to his father out of concern for Peter's health and all Norman sees is opportunity, proceeding to experiment on Harry. Possible slight gender manip. Haven't decided. This bunny brought to you in part by Emeralden Rapley with my thanks for sharing some ideas.

So... review if you have any thoughts on this fic or what I might do with the next one. Which to do, what you would rather see in a new fic, suggestions, etc. And as always, happy reading to you.


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